


sympathique

by saintjaeger



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Absolute Dorks, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Jean Kirstein, Fluff, French Jean Kirstein, M/M, POV Alternating, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintjaeger/pseuds/saintjaeger
Summary: Jean is forced to leave France on short notice and transfer to an American highschool, Armin can't keep his eyes off the enigmatic new student.just a good ol fluffy high school au ft. Jearmin and french lit





	1. Chapter 1

_**Jean** _

Transferring to a new school in the middle of Junior year was hard enough, made much harder by the fact that Jean had only just moved to the States a few weeks prior, with less than a moments notice. He had a good life in France, a great life in fact, but having to drop everything for his Dads fancy new job left a bitter sting of resentment. America was stuffy, the people were abrasive, the cities were muggy, he desperately longed for the cool sea air of the French countryside, but it was all irrelevant now. 

He was lingering outside the school building, smoking his 3rd cigarette since he had arrived, maybe it was his 4th? _Who cares._ It was an attempt to soothe his anxiety, but he was only left with nausea in the pit of his stomach, unsure if it was due to the nicotine or nerves. With a melodramatic sigh, he stomped out the cigarette and resigned himself to his new life at Trost High.

  
Thankfully the halls had cleared out by then, most students had already found their way to homeroom, Jean wasn't sure he could handle the chaos of hundreds of teenagers just yet. he fished out a crumpled bit of paper from his satchel and looked for his first period: Ms. Ral, room 104, English. _Fan-fucking- tastic._

He couldn't help but scoff at the irony. He had learned the basics of conversational English in primary school but never bothered to become proficient. If he could time travel, he’d kick his own ass. His grasp of the language already had proved less than sufficient and inwardly cringed at the vulnerable position he was in. 

  
This was nothing like home. At home he went to a small school with kids he’d known his whole life, he’d made friends easily, he was charming even, now he could hardly get through a sentence without some stupid comment about his accent. Well, there wasn't shit he could do about it now.   
Jean had hoped he could slip into the back of the class without being noticed, but this quickly proved to be in vain.   
 

“Ah Jean, is it? We’ve been expected you!”

  
   _Merde_

He cursed under his breath before turned towards his teacher, doing his best to give a genuine smile. (It ended up more like an awkward grimace.)

She was a petite redhead with large kind eyes, he might have found her to be a comforting presence until she asked what he’d dreaded since he’d arrived. 

"Why don't you introduce yourself to class?"

He shot her a pleading look, but she only returned a small smile and reassuring nod. 

  
“Euh, hello. My name is Jean Kirschtein, and I moved here from France....it is nice to meet you.”  
 

_Real fucking smooth._

“Well we’re happy to have you here Jean, go ahead sit down we’ll start  in a moment.”  
   

Jean did his best to ignore the curious stares and whispers as he made his way to the back of the classroom. The only available seat was next to a girl with a messy brown ponytail, probably due to the crumbs all over her desk.

 Before he even got the chance to pull out his notebook she leaned over, ogling him like he was some rare species. 

“So France huh? I've always wanted to go to Paris!” he barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at that.   
“You know I think the French have the best food in the whole world, no one does it like you guys, and oh man the pastries!”

With that she seemed to get lost in her own thoughts, Jean could swear he could see her starting to drool a bit. Gross.

“Anyways I'm Sasha, nice to meet ya Frenchie!”  
   

_Oh hell no._

Here's hoping that one doesn't stick. 

Jean gave up pretty quickly trying to follow the lesson, English confused him enough without trying to decipher Shakespearian prose. Instead, he busied himself with his sketchbook. It was one of the few things that he was able to comfort himself with, art didn't need a language. the pictures spoke for themselves.   
The rest of the morning continued the same way. More invasive stares, more fragmented sentences. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief when the bell rang for the lunch. There was no way in hell he was going to attempt navigating cafeteria, sitting alone would be another embarrassment he couldn't suffer that day. After wandering aimlessly around the halls for a bit, he came across the library. A quick look around and no one seemed to be in there. _Perfect._

 

* * *

_**Armin** _

    The first time Armin saw him it was a dreary Monday in November. Now, he was smart enough to know that your heart couldn’t actually stop beating, but God, if he wasn't the most beautiful boy Armin had ever seen.   
   

He was leaning up against the brick wall of the school building, his long neck and sharp jaw exposed as he breathed out a cloud of smoke. Armin was also smart enough to know that smoking would kill you, but God if it wasn't sexy.   
 

  There was just something about him, the way that his grey turtleneck clung to his broad shoulders, his long legs in jeans so tight it should be a sin. He felt as if his gay little heart might combust.  
   

He nudged his best friend, “Hey Eren... who is that? I’ve never seen him before.” 

"Huh?” Erens head whipped around obviously before spotting the boy. “Pshhh, I don't know, he looks like a prick though.”  
 

 Armin sighed, deciding it not worth it to respond. His gaze lingered though, his mind swimming with curiosity.   
   

The second time Armin saw him was later that day. He didn't share lunch with Eren or Mikasa, so the library had become his usual hangout. The last thing he expected to see was those same broad shoulders hunched over a desk in the otherwise deserted library.   
 

 His breath hitched when he saw him, this mystery boy that had filled Armin's head without so much as a word spoken. He made his way towards an empty chair, far enough away to not seem creepy, but close enough to get a better glimpse at his face. If he noticed Armin come in, he didn't react, his brows furrowed in concentration at whatever he was doing in his notebook. If only he had the courage to say hello, he was just a person right? But no, he wasn't just anyone. He’d managed to steal the air from Armin's lungs without even acknowledging he existed.   
     

So he resigned himself to admire from afar. He could see his face more clearly know, he had sharp features that seemed to be fixed in a scowl, hazel eyes that bore down on the page with characteristic intensity. What was it that held him so deep thought? He assumed it wasn’t homework, he didn’t seem the bookish type like Armin. What was he doing alone in the library anyway? Who was he? The sharp sound of the bell ringing brought him out of his thoughts and then the boy was gone, all of his questions still unanswered.   
   

 Gathering his books he headed towards his next class, Chemistry. Normally one of his favorite subjects, but he couldn't bring himself to pay attention to the lecture, his thoughts consumed with the boy. He didn't realize how distracted he was until Eren leaned over and started snapping in his face.

“Hellooo? Earth to Armin. You in there?”

“Mmm? Oh yeah what?” he responded still recovering from his daze.

“Damn, what's gotten into you? Have you heard anything I just said?”

Armin felt his cheeks getting warm, flushed with embarrassment. “Oh sorry, I was just thinking. I saw that guy from the morning again.”

At that Eren snorted. “Oh yeah, he was in my second period. His names John or something, apparently he's new, fresh of the boat from France. Definitely a prick though. why do you care?”

“Huh? I don't care. I mean, I just- um, I-” Armin babbled in a poor attempt to seem nonchalant.

Erens eyes widened with understanding, “Oh, ooooh, you’ve got the hots from the new kid.” he sniggered.

Armin cheeks were definitely red now.

“Look, he seems like a jerk, don’t get your hopes up.”  
 

Armin sighed at that, Eren always trying to intervene so he wouldn't get his feelings hurt. Could that be true? Was he actually just a jerk? He didn't want to believe it. Perhaps he was a loner, a little intense maybe, but Armin couldn’t help but think there was more to him than that, and he desperately wanted to find out. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler : they both have big fat crushes on each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about format!! I will fix it later

Jean would be lying if he said he didn’t notice the blond boy sitting in the library every day, or the way he would stare. And Jean would be lying if he said he wasn’t staring back. His presence had become a welcome one, in all honesty, he didn’t mind the company. He didn’t actually dislike people, he just didn’t like the way they treated him like he was from a different planet. Despite the boy’s obvious curiosity, he never approached him, didn’t ask any weird questions about France or why he had moved, which Jean was thankful for. The two just sat in a comfortable silence.

It wasn’t long until he found himself drawing the boy. He couldn’t help the itch to draw his silky blonde hair and bright blue eyes, slender hands that handled books with the gentlest of touches. His soft lips that he bit when he was deep in concentration. the curve of his ear he tucked that pretty hair behind. He was just so, so pretty.

To any outsiders it was probably creepy, the way his sketchbook had become filled with drawings of the boy, but when they were alone in the library and he was right there looking so sweet, who could blame him? Ah fuck, maybe he was a creep. He couldn’t even bring himself to talk to him. Of all the things he wanted to say, he knew it would only come out in ineloquent fragmented English. So he maintained their comfortable silence.

It took about a week to learn his name. The usual quiet had been interrupted by the slam of the door opening, and that damn Eren kid came charging in with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

“Armin? Hey, this is where you’ve been hiding huh?”

The blond boy looked up with a bit of surprise and a soft smile. Jean sighed dreamily. Everything about him was soft.

Armin. _Pretty name. _  
__

“Oh hey Eren, what’s up? I thought you were in class? _ _  
_ _

___Mais dieu _, of all people, was he really friends with that kid? Jean gripped his pencil harder and tried to ignore the twinge of jealousy in his gut.  
___ _

“Oh yeah well I’m ditching, wanna come with? Mikasa and I are gonna go to to the arcade.”

 Jean paused his drawing while he waited for his response. _Don’t leave_ , he thought. _Ugh, he was pathetic._

“Seriously? You shouldn’t just leave whenever you want, you know. I’m staying.” Armin replied indignantly

Jean smirked at that.

“Whatever, have fun with your books and Frenchie over there.”

Jean tensed at the stupid the nickname and shot Eren a piercing glare, then his gaze fell on Armin who looked absolutely mortified.

“ _Eren!_ Don’t be rude.” He hissed, looking anywhere but at Jean. “I’ll see you later okay.”

His friend put his hands up in mock defeat “Okay okay, I was just teasing. See ya Min!” And with that, he left as abruptly as he came.

Jean sighed with relief, not missing the boy’s presence for a second. He was turning back to his sketchbook when heard Armin speak up again.

“Um, I’m sorry about that he doesn’t really have a filter…” Jean was surprised that he was actually addressing him, and truthfully, his evident embarrassment was endearing.

Jean let out a little chuckle and gave him a small smile, “It’s okay.”

He could see the relief wash over Armin’s face as he smiled back, it was like pure sunshine breaking through storm clouds.

It was then Jean realized he’d do anything to make Armin smile like that at him again.

_Shit._

* * *

 

_**Armin** _

Armin had quickly learned that the boy’s name was Jean, not John, and apparently had left France suddenly for unknown reasons.

 _No wonder he has an attitude like that_ , Armin mused

His demeanor was dismissive, even arrogant. He hardly spoke to anyone, and when he did it was it was short one or two sentences. Still, this didn’t do much to dissuade Armin’s interest. If anything, it only intensified his curiosity. He desperately wanted to be the one to break through that cold exterior, to find out what he was doing in that notebook that kept him so captivated.

Every day Armin returned to the library, and every day Jean was already there, looking stupidly handsome. He was always well dressed, Armin noted. He would wear sweaters or button downs made of fine fabrics which fit him impeccably, the neatness of his clothes in sharp contrast to his messy undercut. When Armin noticed the silver hoops in his ears he silently thanked God for creating such a fine, fine man.

As much as he enjoyed their silent lunches together, Armin soon realized they would remain silent unless he was the one to strike up a conversation. He didn’t want to say anything out of stupid, God forbid scare him away from the library. Eren had already offended him, humiliating Armin in the process, but the soft smile Jean gave him had him weak in the knees. So he came up with a plan, perhaps it was a terrible one, perhaps it would send him running, but Armin couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

It had been two weeks now, and rather than taking his usual spot across the library, Armin approached the table where Jean was sitting.

With all the clarity he could muster he asked,

"Est-ce que cette place occupe?” _Is this seat taken?_

Jean’s head snapped up, flipping his notebook over looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Armin laughed nervously, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Puis-je?” _May I?_ He continued, gesturing towards an empty seat.

Jean nodded stiffly, confusion evident in his expression.

“Tu t’appelle Jean, oui?” _Your name is Jean, yes?_ “Je m’appelle-”

“Armin.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised, he hadn’t realized Jean had noticed him at all. The way he said his name sent a shiver down his spine.

Jean was still looking at him skeptically, hazel eyes narrowed.

“Alors…tu parles français?” _So…you speak french?_

“Uh, not exactly, no. J'ai appris un peu” _I learned a little._ The blonde boy could feel his cheeks get hot with the admission.

“Oh.” Jeans expression softened, realization setting in.

At that point, Armin began to wonder if he’d made a mistake, he prepared himself to be to be told to piss off.

Then, Jean flashed a set of perfect white teeth; It was different kind of smile than before, it was one that dripped confidence and charm.

“Enchanté, Armin.” he practically purred.

Thankfully, he was sitting down, otherwise, he surely would have swooned.


	3. Chapter 3

   Armin had spoken to him. Armin had spoken to him in French. Who the hell was this guy? Sure, Jean assumed he was smart, the way he devoured books,  a new one with him nearly every day. Still, what kind of person just picks up a new language? Had he really learned French just to talk to him? Jean was baffled, and yet even more enamored by the sweet boy. 

  
    They didn't say much for a while. Armin had pulled at one of his books and began reading with his usual dedication, biting his lip in a way which highly distracting. Their close proximity was enough to make Jean's head spin. (he would swear he could smell lavender) He could hardly concentrate on the sketchbook in front of him, still trying to get over the shock that the blonde had approached him.   
   

Still, he didn’t want to lose this opportunity, he was well aware that most of the students at written him off as a bit of a jerk. So, he was the first to break their silence. 

“What you are reading?” 

“Voltaire” Armin looked up sheepishly.

“Philosophie, ouais?” This caught Jean off guard. 

“Er, well, I wanted to practice.” He turned the book around to show him, English on the left, French on the right.  

He scoffed audibly. Seriously, who was this kid? He recalled suffering through endless dronings of Voltaire at his old school and cringed a bit. He then realized he hadn’t actually responded, as the other was staring at him nervously.  
   
“Euh no, je veux dire...” he began to backtrack, searching for the right word. “He is...boring.” Jean finished lamely. 

 “Yeah.” Armin giggled. “Yeah he really is.” and if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he had ever heard. 

Trying to keep a straight face, he ripped out a page of his sketchbook and scribbled down a few names, handing it to Armin.

“What is this?”

“Auteurs. To read” Jean paused. “I’ll help.”

The other boy beamed at him, blue eyes twinkling with excitement  “Really? Merci Jean!” 

“De rien” he sighed looking down, sure that his cheeks were going pink.

All too soon the bell had rung signaling the end of lunch, they gathered their things and left the library together. 

“So...I’ll see you tomorrow?” Armin looked up at him timidly. 

 _Mignonne _“__ Ouais, tomorrow.” Jean grinned, and without really thinking, he winked.

 He was just able to see Armin's face flush bright red before Jean turned to walk the other direction, smirking in satisfaction.

\----------- Armin

Armin didn’t remember walking to his next class, he didn’t remember taking his seat or a word his teacher had said. Jean winked at him. Winked. It was unmistakable. It wasn’t fair. He was so attractive. Armin was pretty sure he couldn’t even wink if he tried. Whenever he did he would end up scrunching up his nose up and blinking. He was unconsciously doing just that went he felt a rough nude on the side.

“Armin? What the hell are you doing?”

It took him a moment to respond. “He winked at me”

“What are you talking about?”

Only then did he really notice Mikasa’s presence, staring at him with a concerned look on her face.

“Jean.” He sighed, slowly coming out of his daze. “I talked to him. He’s smart Mikasa, and cute. He winked at me.”

"You already said that.” She had to stop herself from laughing at her friend's expense. “You really like him don’t you?”

Armin just nodded. He didn’t even really know the guy, but for whatever reason, he was hopelessly infatuated.

The first thing Armin did when he got home that afternoon was look up the authors Jean had written down for him. He’d stared at the list so long he already had it memorized by then. The first, Jean-Paul Satre. He had heard of him before, another philosopher, though much more modern than Voltaire. Armin skimmed over the Wikipedia page looking for any interesting details.

_An existentialist huh? _He couldn’t say he found that too surprising. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was well aware that Jean was a bit pretentious. What he did find surprising was Satre’s notoriously passionate relationship with Simone de Beauvoir, another name on the list. _Perhaps a romantic? _He clicked her name and went further down the rabbit hole. _Oh, and a feminist. _Armin groaned, he knew he could feel himself falling faster.______

He looked up a few more names; Camus, _depressing._ Proust, _ridiculously dense._ Baudelaire, _somehow more depressing than Camus._

Then he got to the last name on the list, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. One novel flooded his search results, Le Petit Prince. Armin was intrigued now, it looked like a children's book. His curiosity got the best of him and figured he’d be able to finish it pretty quickly, so he downloaded an English version online.

The story itself was a bit bizarre, it’s a tale about an airplane pilot who crashes in the Sahara desert and meets a nameless boy who claims that he is the prince of an asteroid known as B-12. It’s filled with little illustrations, fairly simplistic, yet extraordinarily expressive. He continued page after page, following the Prince’s journey throughout the solar system, before he knew it the sun had set and he had reached the ending.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling the book had left in him. It had been full of whimsy and satire, but the real story was ultimately a tender one--the novel seemed to be a heartfelt exposition of sadness and solitude.

No, it wasn't a children's book at all. Armin couldn’t help but feel like he was beginning to understand a little more about the enigmatic French boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations! most of the french self-explanatory here but anyways  
> ouais: the informal version of oui. essentially “yeah”  
> Je veux dire: I mean  
> auteurs: authors  
> de rien: you’re welcome, literally translated “its nothing”
> 
> I should really wait to post these on the compiuter but i've already written them and im impatient


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> armin and jean review their interaction, with help from outside sources

Jean had smoked his way through nearly a pack of cigarettes before he decided to pick up his phone. He knew it was getting late back home, but he really needed to talk to someone about this new development.

Just as he was considering hanging up, Marco answered.

 “It's about damn time you called, I almost missed you!” 

  It was nice to hear his voice.

 “Yeah sorry, I guess I’ve been distracted." He let out a breath of smoke." It’s weird here.”

 He didn’t really have a better excuse, he knew he was bad at keeping touch.

  “Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”Jean hesitated, he felt bad for calling just to dump his problems all Marco. “No, not really.-not yet, at least. Just tell me about home.”

 “Ah well same as ever really, you know things don't change much around here…”

Jean momentarily got lost in his story, he thought of his little town, just as he’d left it. He pictured him and Marco hanging out by the docks, watching the fishermen tie up their boats. He imagined coming home to the bakery, the same one he grew up in.

Not for the first time, he was struck by a pang of homesickness. He still hadn’t had much time to adjust, it was hard to accept he’d really left it all behind. It wasn’t like it was his choice anyway.

“I miss you” he mumbled, interrupting whatever Marco was talking about.

“Yeah Jean, I miss you too,” he said softly

Marco waited a moment before speaking again “I know you didn't call me just to hear me talk, what's on your mind?”

Jean lit up another cigarette, taking a long drag before he began. “The school sucks, that's nothing new. Do you remember that guy I told you about? From the library?

“Yeah you’ve only mentioned him 20 times” the other boy sniggered.

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, sorry, go on”

“He talked to me to today” he paused to take another drag. “In _French_ Marco. He learned French. Who does that? What does that mean?”

He could hear Marco's shit-eating grin through the phone. "It means he's got a big fat crush on you, duh. And I’m pretty sure you have one on him too.”

Jean groaned, Marco made it seem so juvenile.

"It’s not that simple.”

“Well, why not?”

“I can’t fucking speak English for starters” he replied irritably.

“He was willing to learn French for you, Jean, I think you can figure it out, next.”

“I never said he learned _for me._ It doesn't make sense anyway, why would he want to talk to me? Everyone here thinks I'm an asshole” He done his best to pretend it didn’t bother him.

“You’re making this a lot harder than it has to be, since when did you get nervous about anyone?”

“It's different now I guess. I feel different now.” He finished, bitterly stomping out his cigarette.

The line went quiet.

You’re still you, Jean, it might just take some time to feel like it again."

"I guess you’re right. I’ve gotta go though, I’ll talk to you later okay?”

It was a lie. He didn’t have to be anywhere. He had nowhere else to be. He’d paced his balcony so many times he’d start to burn a track in the wood. He was surprised the cigarettes hadn't already.

That was one good thing about the new house he figured, there were plenty of places to be alone.

He sighed, looking over the backyard yard. Perfect grass, perfectly empty. He imagined what it could have been, for someone else. He knew it was a nice house, but it’d never be a home, not to him. It only felt empty, uninviting. Too quiet, his footsteps the only sound echoing wherever he went.

He didn't see how it was worth it. He was still angry. He thought his Dad was being shallow, making them uproot their whole lives. Just to make more money, so they could afford a bigger house they didn't need.

Jean had started working himself up, he reached for his pack again, but he knew if he had another he’d be sick. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and retreated back into his room, grumbling to himself.

When he did, he heard knocking at his door.

"Jean-bo?" It was his mother.

“Why don't you come down for dinner?”

“I’m not hungry!” he yelled through the door. 

He could hear her mother sigh. “You’re never hungry these days. I’m getting worried, you’re so thin.”

“I’m fine, Maman, just leave me alone!”

He knew if his mother had made dinner, then his father was home, and he really didn’t want to deal with that.

Evidently, she’d had enough when she opened the door, shaking a finger at him. 

“When are going to stop being so angry? It’s been _weeks_ Jean. Your father doesn't deserve this, he only wants to take care of us. I swear sometimes you can be so childish!”

She paused, regaining her cool. She spoke again, her tone even, “I’ll bring dinner up, you still need to eat.” before shutting the door.

Jean groaned, collapsing back onto his bed, feeling even worse now than before. He knew she was right, but he’d never stop being angry, it was just the way he was. He’d been told all his life that he was stubborn, hot-headed, childish. That, at least, never changed.

He buried his head into the pillows, trying to let go of the resentment he’d held so close. He let his thoughts wander, they ended up where they always did, golden hair and sparkling blue eyes.

“ _Armin_ ” he whispered aloud, it felt good to say his name. It felt right on his tongue.

Jean realized it was the only thing that felt right since he'd gotten to the goddamn country.

After a while, he heard a second knock and made his way for the door. When he opened it, there was no sign of his mother, just a plate holding a single omelet.

He sighed, it was his favorite.

* * *

 

_**Armin** _

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Mikasa! You told him?”

“I tell him everything.”

Armin buried his face in his hands, trying to avoiding Eren’s eyes. They were scary when he got worked up.

"He looks like a horse! And he's an asshole. He's a dumb French horse asshole and I don't want you hanging out with him." He stated firmly.

"He's not an asshole, you don't know anything about him. It's not really your business anyway."

"Yeah well, it's my business when I can't even talk to you cause you're too busy daydreaming about riding monsieur ponyboy"

The insinuation caused Armin to choke on his drink. Eren just laughed loudly when the girl next to him punched his shoulder.

After a minute of coughing Armin regained his breath, cheeks burning.

"I think its nice." Mikasa finally said, looking at Armin sympathetically.

"It doesn't matter anyway, "Armin mumbled. "I don't even know that he's gay, and if by some miracle he was, he’d never me into me." he gazed intently at his empty tea cup.

“Why would you say that? You're like, literally, the best person ever.” Eren's face flashed a concerned look before it morphed into something else more familiar.

"Wait, did he say something? If he said something mean to you, I swear to God, I'll kill him. Just say the word, Armin, and I'll do it. What did he say? I'll kill him."

“Eren, shut up. He didn't say anything.” he didn't know why he bothered.

Sensing Armin's irritation, Mikasa managed to divert Eren's attention by mentioning that her cousin was going to be visiting that weekend. Armin thanked her mentally. Erens demeanor changed immediately, it was no secret that he’d had is own crush, on an arguably bigger asshole.

Armin was happy to let the conversation stray, he felt conflicted enough without Eren yelling his opinions at him. After coming down from the high of actually speaking to him, he started to worry that he'd read the situation all wrong. He'd gotten so excited over a wink, and it probably meant nothing. The French were known for being flirty right?

He tried not to get ahead of himself, he'd settle for being friends. 

_Friends._  

It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeans part is long, armins is short srry  
> if u hadnt noticed this fic jean centric i wanted to try to build his character a lil more  
> also when he talks to his mom and marco its all in french, obv  
> eren is obnoxious because i love him  
> uuuh yeah  
> trying to get better at dialogue?


	5. Chapter 5

Jean had arrived early at the library the next day, not because he was nervous or anything, no of course not.

There was no sign of the blond boy, so he felt safe pulling out his sketchbook and resuming his latest portrait. It was of Armin, of course, drawn in profile. he was struggling to get the nose just right, that cute little button nose the upturned ever so slightly. He’d erased it again agitatedly, he just couldn’t capture his expression right. He was so focused on the drawing he hadn’t heard the door opening.

“The little prince!”

The exclamation from behind caused Jean to jump, sending his sketchbook flying off the table.

“Poutain!” _Fuck!_

_Oh fuck oh shit he caught me he saw me drawing him he thinks I’m stalking him he won’t-what?_

“Huh?”

He turned to meet Armin’s eyes, ready for him to look disgusted, but he didn’t. He was looking at Jean with the same fondness in his eyes like he always did.

“Is..is that who you were drawing? Le Petit Prince? Armin went to retrieve the sketchbook, which had thankfully fallen shut.

“I read it last night,” he said, handing it back gingerly. “C'est un beau livre.” _It’s a beautiful book._

Oh.

Books. The list. The list Jean had given him. The Little Prince.

He was finally able to put two and two together- Armin had somehow mistaken drawings of himself with a character from a kids book. He figured they did look sort of similar. Sort of. Jean laughed aloud with relief, still thankful for the coincidence.

“Trop mignon…” _Too cute_ he wheezed, unable to stop himself from laughing harder.

Poor Armin was terribly confused.

“Why are you laughing? I don't know that word yet…” He looked so flustered and adorable, reaching for his French dictionary, trying to figure out what was so funny, but Jean waved it away.

“Rien, rien, désolé.” _Nothing, nothing, sorry._

“I said you were cute.”

If Armin seemed flustered before, it was nothing compared to now.

Jean finally managed to regain his composure, feeling bad for laughing in the boys face.

“You surprised me, c’est tout.”

“You surprised me! I didn’t know you could draw so well. Why don’t you ever show anyone?"

In truth, he didn’t mind when others saw. It was just Armin, who had unknowingly become Jean’s favorite subject.

“It’s personal.” was the only answer he could come up with.

Armin scrunched up his face and bit his lip, he recognized this face to mean he was thinking deeply. He spoke slowly,

“Veux-tu me montrer un jour?” _Will you show me one day?_

He couldn’t say no when Armin looked at him like that. So hopeful, brimming with curiosity.

“Ouais…someday.”

Maybe someday he could share his little secret. Someday it wouldn’t be weird to admire the boy. He’d be allowed to trace every curve of that beautiful face, over and over until it was committed to memory.

“You could even draw me” Armin added cheekily, as though it were a joke.

_Oh, mon chou, you really have no idea._

Jean decided not to linger on the subject, not wanting to get caught up in his thoughts.

“Alors, Le Petit Prince. You read it?”

“Well, yeah I got curious, so I found an English version online.” he began to play with his hair, Jean knew this meant he was nervous.

“We were supposed to…together?” He pursed his lower lip, pouting.

He’d actually meant when he said he wanted to help, it was the least he could do if Armin was really dead set on learning.

“Oh well, I still want to! I kinda rushed through some parts and it'll help if I already know what’s going on! I mean, if you still want to.” he replied hurriedly.

Jean pretended to deliberate for a moment, he was really too easy to mess with. “Okay,” he said finally with a grin. “It’s a…how do you say…date?”

He knew he was really laying it on thick, but the blush he got in response was well worth it.

* * *

 

They’d agreed to meet that afternoon, by the brick wall where Jean always stood. Of course Armin pretended not to know that already.

He was still confused about whatever he’d done to make Jean laugh so so hard. He hadn’t meant to scare him, was so excited to finally see what Jean was doing. He was _drawing,_ of course. He should have realized that when the list he’d been given wasn’t written on lined paper. He was good at it too, using smooth, confident strokes to flesh out a portrait a boy with long, blonde hair, partially looking away. He looked was familiar and Armin had been so preoccupied with the book he had read, he couldn’t help but blurt it out.

It was embarrassing to say the least, but Jean just laughed. He laughed and he called Armin cute.

 _Maybe he didn't mean it that way._ He couldn’t let himself think about it too much.

So he waved off Eren and Mikasa with some excuse about his grandfather needing him, waiting till he saw them drive off before crossing the parking lot towards Jean. He was already there, smoking and pacing back and forth, mumbling under his breath.

 _He seems to do that a lot_.

“Hey,” he called out, trying not to let his excitement show. _Be cool for once in your damn life._

Jean greeted him with that charming smile of his.

“Hello, Armin.”

He decided his name sounds a whole lot better with a French accent.

“There’s a good coffee shop nearby, I was thinking we could go there?”

Jean just nodded, dropping his cigarette to stomp it out.

“You should really recycle those, you know.”

He wasn’t about to lecture Jean about smoking. He could pollute his body if he wanted, but he didn't have to pollute the earth too.

Jean chuckled a little but, evidently had been surprised to be called out. Still, he bent over to pick back up.

“You’re right, désolé.”

_I know I’m right._

“Come on, it’s only a few blocks.”

They didn't say much on the way there, Armin was far too distracted by how close they were standing, jackets nearly brushing each other as they walked, the wind carrying the scent of Jeans cologne.

_It smells expensive._

Armin was tempted to start up a conversation, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. They’d spent of their time together in silence anyway.

When they arrived Armin was thankful to retreat into the warmth of the coffee shop, pulling off his scarf and coat, he always got cold easily. Jean removed his as well, it was a black peacoat (Armin’s favorite) before turning to him.

“What do you want?” Jean asked bluntly.

“Earl Grey.” He really preferred tea over coffee.

Jean turned abruptly, placing a ten on the counter, ordering for the both of them before Armin got a chance to protest.

“You didn't have to that, I can pay for myself.” Armin huffed, money was sort of sore subject for him. He wondered if Jean could tell.

“I know. I want to,” he said nonchalantly, before dropping the change into the tip jar.

All the tables had already been taken, the only available seat was a small, worn-looking couch in the far back. _Of course_.

Jean had already made his way over there, falling back with a sigh and throwing his arm up over the back of it. Armin followed slowly, trying to ignore his heart rate and the few inches of tension between them.

“Do you have it?”

Oh. Armin hadn’t thought this part through. Luckily he brought his laptop to school that day so he pulled it out settling it onto his lap. He noticed how close Jean’s face was to his, leaning over Armin’s shoulder to see the screen. he could practically feel his breath on his neck. After poking around a bit he found the original French and set his computer aside to download, it would take a minute.

“When do you first read the book?” Armin asked.

“I don’t remember. My maman read it to me since I was a baby.” His voice had softened as he recalled, Armin though he could see a flash of sadness before he continued. “It’s quite famous in France, everyone has read it.”

He’d never heard Jean speak about himself in so many words, Armin realized he was comfortable enough to start to open up to him. It felt like a success. After a moment the book had downloaded and the two settled in to start the first chapter.

Jean read aloud, “Quand j'avais six ans…”


	6. Chapter 6

"Say it again."

"Hairuse"

"No, heureuse. _heir-uhzhe_ "

"Heiruse."

They'd been practicing the same word for nearly ten minutes. Jean had been impressed by Armin's pronunciation so far, but apparently, he couldn't quite figure out the combination of vowels and 'r' sounds.

"Soft on the 'h', speak from the back of your throat."

"eryuhz?"

"Worse." Jean groaned, playfully resting his head on Armin's shoulder. "C'est impossible."

Armin giggled at his frustration, "Airyuz, erryous, errors." He prodded mockingly.

Jean didn't particularly mind. He had become focused on the fine blonde hairs tickling his nose, the smell of lavender overwhelming his thoughts. He closed his eyes and hummed peacefully. Armin didn't move.

"Uh, Jean?"

"Ouais?" he asked innocently.

"Whatcha doing?"

"You smell good." He was never one to hide what was on his mind. Honesty was one of his better qualities, so he was told.

"Oh. Thank you." He didn't seem bothered by the comment.

"Mhmm."

Armin hadn't shrugged him off and he didn't have any interest in moving, so he let his head rest on the boy's shoulder.

For the first time in a while, he noticed their surroundings. Most of the patrons that had crowded the cafe earlier were gone, the sun had set hours ago. They'd gotten through a little bit of the book, translating each word was a painstaking process, but Armin insisted.

Truthfully it had been helping Jean with his English. He wasn’t so nervous to mix up his words with Armin or let his accent get too heavy. In fact, he had an inkling that the other boy actually liked it. Until then, he hadn't really had a chance to practice with anyone, at school he'd kept his interactions to a minimum. He was comfortable around Armin, happy even.

It'd been a long time like he felt like that with someone, probably since he'd met Marco. No, Marco was different. He never longed for Marco like this, never had the desire pull him close and cover him in kisses. He didn't smell Marco's hair or draw endless portraits of him. Armin was special. Jean had never figured himself to be an affectionate person, but Armin had him rethinking. He would go to the end of the earth just to see him smile, and he didn't even quite know why.

Reluctantly, Jean moved away. It was dangerous. He'd let himself become practically obsessed with the boy in such a short time. He had no idea if he felt anything towards him, even if he was gay.

_Straight guys don't smell so good, though._

He thought he was reading the situation clearly, the long glances, the flirty touches. Armin was the one who approached him, it had to mean something. The sound of him yawning brought Jean out of his train of thought. 

“It’s getting late, we should probably go.” Armin sighed, rubbing his eyes.

Jean just nodded, not wanting to end the night so soon.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jean held to door open for him as they left the cafe.

_It’s the little things._

The walk back was much colder. Already, Armin missed the warmth of the cafe, of Jean’s arm behind him. Jean lit up a cigarette immediately. 

“Why do you do that?” he frowned. 

Jean just shrugged. “At home, everyone does.” 

Armin considered the opportunity before asking, “Do you miss it? Home?”

“Like hell.” he smiled, but Armin could tell it was a bitter one.

“What was it like?” He didn’t want to push too much, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Jean took a few drags, as though he were deciding whether or not to answer.

“I grew up in a little town in the south, by the sea. Lots of fishing men. My maman had un boulangerie, I was there at 6 every morning until about two months ago.” 

“You can bake?” Armin gaped.   

“The best pastries you’ve ever tasted.” He grinned, that beautiful confident grin of his. Armin admired it. He was never the type to talk himself up when he was good at something. 

“You can’t just say that. You’re going to have to prove it to me.” He couldn’t help but picture Jean in the kitchen, wearing a flour-covered apron, kneading dough with his mother. He smiled at the thought.

“It would be mon plasir.” _my pleasure,_ he said sincerely.

“What about your friends? I'm sure that was hard.”

“It was. Marco was my only close friend though.”

Armin took a moment before asking his next question. “Any girlfriends?” He braced himself for the answer.

Jean chuckled lightly. “I don’t like girls. I thought that was obvious.” He caught Armin’s eyes with his own.

“Oh.”

Their eyes stayed on each other for a moment too long.

_Oh._

It took a considerable amount of effort to stop himself from letting out a ‘ _whoop!_ ’ and pumping his fist in the air. 

“Cool. Me neither.” is what he came up with instead. He looked away and begun playing his hair. A nervous habit he’d picked up at some point. 

“Where do you live?” Jean broke the tension.

“Huh? Why?” 

“I’m walking you home.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I don’t expect you to do that.” 

“I know, I want to.” He repeated the sentiment from earlier.

Armin nodded. He did appreciate how considerate he could be. “Its a fifteen-minute walk from here.”

“Lead the way.”

They continued to talk about Jean's life in France, but the air around them had changed, it was palpable. Full of potential. 

Eventually, they’d reached his street, He was a bit embarrassed for Jean to see he lived, but he didn’t make any comment about it. They walked slower as the approached his doorstep. Neither of them seemed to be willing to let go of the moment, looking at each other expectantly. 

Armin spoke first. “I guess this is goodnight.”  

“I guess it is,” Jean replied, not breaking eye contact. 

“See you tomorrow?”

“Ouais, tomorrow.” 

He remembered the last time they’d spoken the same words to each other, just the day before.

He went towards the door, but in a momentary surge of confidence, he turned back and lightly placed a kiss on Jean’s cheek.

“Bonne Nuit, Jean,” he whispered in his ear. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *yells from the back* GAAAYYY


	7. Chapter 7

Jean was stunned. He stood on that ragged porch for a few minutes before he was able to collect himself. So, Armin wasn't nearly as meek as he might seem. Jean's cheek burned where he had kissed him, the hairs still standing on his neck. He hadn't been imagining things. If Armin hadn't shut the door in his face so fast, he would have grabbed him right then and kissed him until their lips were sore.

_Oh, it's on, mon chou._

_._

_._

_._

"Maman! Nous devons faire des croissants." _Mom! We need to make croissants._

 Jean was out of breath he'd run into the house so fast. He found his mother in the kitchen, finishing the dishes. She looked up with surprise.

"Oh? Quelle est l'occasion?" _Oh? What's the occasion?_

He ignored the question.

"S'il vous plaît, Maman. Nous devons ce soir" _Please, Mom. We have to tonight._

She laughed warmly, "Jeanbo, es-tu fou? il faudra au moins huit heures." _Are you crazy? They take at least eight hours._

He checked the clock, 10 p.m.

"Juste aidez-moi à commencer la pâte." _Just help me start the dough._

“D'accord,d’ accord. Tu te souviens des ingrédients, non? _Okay okay. You remember the ingredients right?”_

Jean nodded, walking to the pantry, Truthfully he could have done it by himself, but they were just better when she did it. Something about a mothers touch. 

He began by adding yeast and sugar to warm water, beating it until it was creamy.

"Alors, qui est-il?" _So, who is he?_

_"Eh?"  
_

She measured out the flour into a bowl, mixed in sugar, salt, and warm milk. Then yeast, then oil. 

"Nous ne faisons des croissants que pour quelqu'un de spécial." _We only make croissants for someone special._  

She gave him a knowing look. Subtlety didn't suit him.

"il s'appelle Armin. Je l'aide à apprendre le français" _His name is Armin, I'm helping him learn french._

When it was all incorporated she began to knead the dough with expert hands.

"Joli nom." _Pretty name._

"Je le pensais, aussi" _I thought so, too._

He smiled a bit at the memory of the first day he learned his name, the first time they spoke.

Essayes-tu de l'impressionner? _So, you're trying to impress him?_

"Ouais, un petit peu" _Yeah, a little bit._

“Pourquoi ne pas ajouter un peu de chocolat?” _Why don’t we add a little chocolate? “_ Je pense que nous en avons dans le garde-manger.” _I think we have some in the pantry._

"Merci, Maman." He grinned, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Bien sûr, je suis juste heureux de te voir sourire à nouveau.” _Of course, I'm just happy to see you smile again. “_ Essayez de dormir un peu ce soir." _Try to get some sleep tonight._

The dough was now formed, but now he would have to wait, it would have to sit for at least two hours to rise.

“D’ accord, bonne nuit.” 

“Bonne nuit.” She retreated upstairs.

He replayed the events of that day in his head. It all happened so fast. Nearly getting caught in the library, the hours in the cafe, the walk home, the kiss. It was so easy to be around Armin. Had they really only known each other for two weeks? It seemed so far away, the day he met the beautiful blonde boy in the library. The silence between them spoke a thousand words. Now he had a kiss to prove it. It was only on the cheek, but it made his head spin. So chaste, so sweet. Making good on his promise to bake for him seemed the only thing he could do. He checked the clock, it was still only 11. He sighed setting an alarm on his phone for the next step. He made himself comfortable on the couch, dozing off imagining Armin’s reaction to his effort. He hoped it would be another kiss.  

_12:30 A.M_

The sound of his alarm woke him abruptly from the pleasant dream he was having, something about lavender fields. He rubbed his eyes, returning to the kitchen to attend to the dough. It had risen about 3 times its size when it was sitting. He coated the counter generously with flour, taking the dough and gently folding it over itself until it was deflated. He covered it again and set an alarm for two hours.

_Maybe he was crazy, croissants really were a bitch to make._

It was easy for him to fall back asleep, returning to the lavender fields in his mind. He was running after a head of blonde hair, laughing amongst the fragrant blossoms. He could see mountains in the distance, he recognized them. He was in the Alps, in Provence where he had vacationed a few summers before. He caught up to the boy, grabbing his hand and pulling him close. He smelled like home. 

_2:00 A.M_

The realization jolted him awake, reluctantly letting the dream fade away. His alarm hadn’t gone off yet. Back in the kitchen, the dough had risen significantly, he figured it was good enough. Deflating it once more, he placed in the fridge to chill for half an hour. It wouldn’t do him much good to sleep now, instead, he retrieved his sketchbook from his school bag. 

Armin’s mistake earlier had inspired him, he supposed he did somewhat resemble the little prince, he might as well lean into it. His drawing of Armin now had a yellow scarf, and he watering a red rose. He hoped in their story he wasn’t the rose. He could be vain and cold, but not when it came to Armin, he would do anything for him. 

_Like, stay up all night to make some fucking pastries._

It was time for the next step, to knead in the butter, soft and pliable, but not oily. He patted the dough into a rectangle, covering 2/3 in butter, and folding it over itself over three times. Turning the dough 90 degrees and repeating. This step was the secret to giving them their characteristic buttery layers. It had taken him months master this step. He lightly covered it in flour and placed it back in the fridge for 2 hours. 

_4:30 A.M_

His alarms woke him too soon, he didn’t dream this time. He really was exhausted by this point. He only had to repeat the previous step, folding and turning, he was barely conscious as he did it. He placed the dough back in the fridge, grateful that the only thing left was to bake. He was asleep again before his head hit the pillow.

6:30 A.M

He woke up in a panic, not to the sound of his alarm but to the smell of fresh bread. He jerked upright trying to catch the time, only to find his mother in the kitchen. 

“Bonne matin, Jeanbo!” She was bustling around cheerfully. She was always an earlier riser thanks to all those years in the bakery.

“J'espère que ça ne vous dérange pas, j'ai fini pour toi.” _I hope you don’t mind, I finished these for you._

He shook his head slowly, sleep still fogging his brain. 

“Ils ont presque fini, allez vous préparer pour l'école.” _They’re almost done, go get ready for school.  
_

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

It had been a rough morning for Armin. His anxiety about kissing Jean had kept him up so late he’d overslept. He didn’t have time for a shower or to put his contacts in, he just had to tie up his embarrassing bed head and grab his glasses before running out the door. He hadn’t been able to eat breakfast either, his stomach growling with hunger. He was searching in his locker for a something to eat when a large hand hit the locker above his shoulder. 

_Oh no, not today._

“Uh, hey Reiner.” He turned around, trapped between the lockers and the brawny guy grinning down at him. 

“You look cute with your glasses, reminds me of that night.” He said reaching a hand to touch his face before Armin slapped it away. 

“Get away from me.” He tried to move but Reiner just stepped closer to him. 

“Why’d you always gotta be like that? You didn’t seem to mind last year.” 

“Don’t remind me.” Armin felt nauseous. 

“I’d like to. The football teams having a party on Saturday, you should come.”

“I’d rather pull my own teeth out.”

“Ouch, that hurts. Come on I’ll show you a good time.” 

“No. Just leave me-”

“Oi!” 

Their heads both turned at the voice that had shouted at them. Armin felt his body melt with relief. He took the opportunity to slip under Reiners' arm while he was distracted, now standing beside Jean who had approached them. 

“What the fucks going on here?” Armin had never heard that beautiful voice filled with so much venom. 

“None of _your_ damn business.” Reiner was now leering down at Jean, puffing up his chest. Jean stood his ground. 

“It is when you’re harassing Armin.”

“It’s fine Jean, let’s go” Armin tugged at his hand, urging him to walk away. 

“Oh, I get it.” Reiner followed the motion with his eyes and sneered. “You two are fucking now. I should have guessed, Armins such a little-”

Before he could finish, Jean swung and punched him in the face, hard enough for Reiner to stumble backward. He lunged back at him, but Jean jumped away before he could land a hit. 

“You have to be faster than that.” 

“I’m gonna fuck you up!” 

“STOP!” Armin stepped in between them, glaring at them both. “Stop fighting what’s wrong with you?” 

They were both steaming, faces flushed with anger. 

“Apologize.” Armin turned Jean.

“What?! But he was-”

“I don't care, you hit him. Apologize and end this.” 

“Fine. Sorry.” He spat.

“Okay. We’re leaving.” Armin slammed his locker shut, walking away with Jean, keeping his eyes on Reiner the whole time.

“He's got you whipped!” He yelled after them.

Armin ignored it, feeling Jean's bicep flexing under his hand, his jaw still clenched. He ignored how sexy it was.

“Jean, calm down,” Armin spoke softly, taking his hand, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

“Who the hell is that guy? Why’s he bothering you?”

Armin sighed, he really wanted to avoid this. “Will you stay calm if I tell you?”

Jean hesitated, but his shoulders relaxed a little bit. 

“I need a cigarette.” Armin nodded, letting Jean lead him outside. He was late to class anyway. He realized that they were still holding hands, he didn’t want to let go.

He waited until Jean had finished his first drag to speak up.

“That's Reiner. I went to a party last year, I’d never been to one before. I got too drunk and he kissed me. He thought I was some girl, Krista, but he kept going. Eren stepped in and stopped before he got too far.” Armin looked down, he hated telling the story. He was so ashamed, he felt like it was his fault he drank too much.

Jean stayed silent, Armin had expected him to start yelling again, but when he looked up he only saw sadness in his face. 

“I’m so sorry.” He said quietly. 

Armin nodded, fighting back the tears threatening to well up. Then he felt Jean’s arms wrap around him, holding him tightly. He buried his face in Jeans jacket, breathing in the familiar smell of expensive cologne and tobacco. 

“I’ll kill that guy.”

Armin laughed a little. “That’s what Eren said too.”

“I guess I owe Eren a thank you now.” 

Armin pulled away from the hug but stayed close. “I think you two are probably the only ones with enough guts to stand up to him. He’s captain of the football team, most people won’t cross him.” 

“I don’t care who he is.” 

“You can’t go around punching people though. Even if it was kind of hot.”

He said the last part quieter, but Jean still heard. He ruffled Armin's hair, laughing. “I think I have something to make you feel better.”

Armin's eyes widened. “You brought something for me?”

“I told you I would bake for you didn’t I? His smooth confident smile was back, making Armin's heart flutter.

“I didn’t mean you had to immediately.”

“I know. I wanted to”

 _What's with him saying that?_ Armin didn't really understand why Jean was so nice to him.

He pulled out a brown paper bag, handing a croissant to Armin, he almost looked nervous. Armin took a bite happily, it was still warm and melted in his mouth. 

“What the hell, Jean?” He slapped him lightly on his shoulder. He stepped back looking hurt. 

“Is there something wrong with them?”

“No! They’re perfect. Like you. Why are you so good at everything?” It was infuriating really. A guy that could fight _and_ bake? It wasn’t fair.

“Oh.” Jean sighed in relief. “I’m not though. I still suck at English.” He said rubbing the back his neck, looking sheepish.

“You really don’t” Armin frowned. “You’ve been using English all day.” 

Jean looked surprised at the realization. “I hadn’t noticed. I guess you’re helping me.”

Armin blushed a little at that, he wanted to be able to do something for him too. He took another bite, this time getting a taste of chocolate too. 

“Goddamn it! It’s so good.”

“You cursing at me wasn't really that reaction I had hoped for.”

“Oh yeah? What were you hoping for?” 

Armin could see Jean blushing now, it was a precious sight. He wasn’t making eye contact.  “Another kiss, maybe?” 

Armin giggled, he was such a dork sometimes. 

“All you had to do was ask.” He was blushing too, but he gave Jean another quick peck on the cheek. He had his arms around Jean's shoulders, playing with the fine hair on his neck. 

“Merci Jean.” _For everything._

 Jean nodded, putting his hands on Armin's waist, pulling him closer so that their chests were pressed against each other. He wondered if he could feel how hard his heart was pounding.

Jean opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by the bell signaling the end of the first period. Armin knew the moment was gone, but he could wait. He grabbed Jean's hand and they walked inside together, both blushing furiously. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long!! ive been dealing with some prsnl stuff this last week but the next chapter should be up sooner!!  
> sorry reiner but someone has to be the bad guy and i really wanted a reason for jean to get protective  
> also jean and his mom actually speaking french cause why the hell not  
> edit: i took the slurs out, i really dont like using them esp in this fic

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! This is my first fic ever so pls bear with me, my heart needed some french cigarette smoking artist jean so here we are  
> i'm open to any questions, suggesstions, comments,complaints or critiques so dont be afraid :^)  
> U can also find me at saint-jaeger.tumblr.com and ill talk a little more about the fic there/post early drafts  
> (im aiming for about 10,000 words/10 chapters? we'll see)  
> Also sorry if the formatting it weord, i uploaded this from my phone


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